The barista came to work this morning to make coffee and talk sports. His manager expects the former, doesn’t care much for the latter.
“But check this out, Julie,” he says. “Even you can appreciate this story.”
“So the announcer comes out and there’s all this excitement, all this hype…”
“Did he break into song like a Broadway tune?”
“No. Come on, Julie. This is MMA.”
“Mixed martial arts.”
“I don’t like fighting.”
“Do you like musicals?” Julie asks.
“Then you’re crazy.”
She explains her objections to fighting, how it brings out the “worst in humanity,” how the sight of violence makes her “sick,” how a civilized society would ban “blood sports.”
And yet, despite her words, Julie doesn’t judge. Perhaps the manager and her barista are friends. Perhaps this is a work thing, the typical water cooler kind of thing. Or perhaps it is too early and they are too caffeine-deprived for that sort of exchange.
“ANYWAY,” the barista says. “The announcer talks for a while, like a few minutes, but it feels like FOREVER.”
“Ugh. I just really don’t like violence, seeing two people hurt each other.”
“No, this is just the announcer talking about how they are going to hurt each other. It’s all hot air and he’s going on, and on, and on.”
“Like a monologue?”
“Whatever. Yeah. It’s all this hype, but there was nothing to hype because the whole thing took thirteen seconds.”
“It was crazy,” a customer says.
“Totally crazy,” the barista agrees.
“Thirteen seconds?” Julie says.
“Yes!” the barista says. “The announcement was longer than the fight!”
“I watched the whole thing on Instagram,” another customer says.
“It’s on Instagram,” Julie says. “Ok, I’ll check it out.”